


Camp Skyhold

by fabula_prima



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Disabled Character, Disabled Inquisitor, F/M, Modern Thedas, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-02 17:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14549802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabula_prima/pseuds/fabula_prima
Summary: Brigid is the oldest daughter of the well-respected Ostwick Trevelyans, known for their political influence and aristocratic history. Her father’s plan had long been to groom his eldest to follow in his gubernatorial footsteps. But when Brigid entered this life with a pair of faulty legs and an anti-establishment attitude, he abandoned those plans. Now, a newly appointed editor for Ferelden’s most prominent newspaper, Brigid will return to the camp that once brought her pure adolescent joy. Camp Skyhold is a universally designed Elysium fit for all children with disabilities. Each Justinian, kids from across Thedas travel to the camp to be paired with a trained counselor—someone to help with their various needs; but more importantly, someone to serve as a buddy in all camp activities. The sweet memories of Skyhold have roused her nostalgia every summer, and while she hopes to write an article showcasing the amazing the camp, her return is, above all else, a gift to herself.Afraid to be duped by nostalgia, Brigid keeps her expectations low. But will her romantic tendencies get the better of her good sense? Or will Camp Skyhold deliver on new desires that her youthful heart only daydreamed about so many years ago?





	1. Recollections

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired largely by my own experience with MDA Summer Camp as a child. My canon Inquisitor ends up in a wheelchair after the destruction of Haven, so this is an AU that incorporates the disability. Some chapters will be written in third-person limited perspective. Others will be in the style of Brigid's notes.

_**Sunday, Justinian 7, Afternoon** _

If there’s a place in Thedas that stands unchanged by time, it’s Camp Skyhold. I’ve been here for two hours, and already, I’ve revisited all nine summers that I spent nestled in the safety of these woods. The pines are just as grand and fragrant as I recall. The climbing tower—which I expected to seem much shorter—looks taller than ever, though much grayer. The geese, per their habit, have shit absolutely everywhere. And the steady hum of motorized wheelchairs flashing by and cackling children underscore the wild buzz of cicadas.

The cabins, save for a fresh coat of paint, look just as they did all those years ago. They’ve given me one of the single cabins, which is generous (though I must admit, I had hoped they’d put me in with the campers so I could join in the festivities). Maker, I must remember that I’m here for work and not to relive my childhood. 

The children are all unfamiliar, of course. Just as giddy as I had been, and perhaps more mischievous. From the window nearest my cot, I see two young boys chasing their counselors with water guns and I’m 13 again, just a touch too old for such foolishness, scoffing at the immaturity of young boys. So many things unchanged. And yet others, entirely different. 

Leliana runs the camp now, in place of dear Wynne (who I’m told will visit on Wednesday). When she was a counselor, everyone in camp called her Nightingale, for her haunting singing voice, but now it serves as a respectable kind of title. She makes an excellent director, joined by Cassandra Pentaghast. The two of them have everything so ship-shape, I wonder if the counselors still manage the pranks and shenanigans that left me in hysterics. I hope so. There are still six cabins, as in my day, but now there are two full of girls. I never did understand why there were so many more young boys than girls, but this is a change I’m glad to see.

Blackwall has been promoted from counselor, it seems. He always did enjoy the scout camp more than anything else, and Maker knows he’ll have at least a few campers madly in love with it as well by the end of the week. I hear he even has a deputy, so to speak. No doubt this Lace Harding keeps him from turning into an actual recluse. Hopefully encourages him to bathe. 

Most of all, I’m thrilled to hear that Varric’s still around. Back when he was a counselor for the younger boys’ cabin, I could never decide if I wished he were my older brother or my respectable boyfriend. I’ll have to tell him about the crush, he ought to get a kick out of it. But now he’s the Leader of Cabin 6. Not a job for the weak of heart, and none could do it better than Varric. He has a marvelous way of being generous without patronizing. As a former teenager in a wheelchair, that’s the only tolerable person at that stage. Plus, he’s got loads of drunken stories. 18 year olds love drunken stories. 

There are lots of new faces too, which thrills me. The camp had such good counselors in my day, I always worried what would become of it when they moved on and away. As it turns out, new, equally energetic people take their place, and for that, I’m grateful. I expect I’ll be most critical of whoever’s leading my old cabin and whoever’s leading Alistair’s old cabin. Alistair Theirin…that was a cabin leader. Enthusiastic, cheerful, willing to make a damned fool of himself for the children. Of course, when he was a fresh 21 year old and I was 14 and too precocious for my own good, I was madly in love with the man. And of course he was appropriate and gentle with my feelings which made the crush ALL the worse…especially on pool days… Needless to say, when he went on to succeed in all manner of Fereldan politics and philanthropy, I knew his time with Camp Skyhold was over. But by then, I had aged out of the camp as well and merely felt proud to say that my first truly aching crush turned out to be a fine man. 

From Leliana’s brief run down of things, I’ve gathered that the new Cabin 4 Leader is some ex-military gentleman brought in on the recommendation of Ms. Pentaghast. I hope that the military bit is coincidental and not intrinsic to him. Cabin 4 has always been full of energetic, silly young boys looking to cause mischief. Regiment is the last thing they need. Void, on a larger scale as well, nothing about this camp should be militaristic.

It’s the place I’ve always felt freest.


	2. Staff

_**Justinian 7, Night** _

In an effort to keep things straight (namely, names), I’ll leave a rundown of the significant people I’ve encountered so far.

Leliana, of course, serves as the camp’s director, and Cassandra is her right hand woman (see previous notes). I’ve not had a chance to meet with the second-in-command, but a lengthier chat with Lil informed me that Cass-–as she’s called-–is a former police chief. Presumably someone that Lil knows from her private investigating "day job." Night job? PI work must be a night job, no?

There’s a new ranking sort of head position now: Activities Director. This is the person in charge of coordinating karaoke night, casino night, the talent show, the donor’s day visit, the mid-week campfire, and MOST IMPORTANTLY, Friday night’s prom. I suppose these duties were previously divvied up between the camp directors, but now that I’ve written it out, I can’t imagine how they handled that work load. At any rate, I’ve met the Activities Director, Dorian, and he’s an absolute delight. Sharp, commanding in his skills, and quite personable. I should like to spend more time with him.

Cabin 1, which houses lady campers, 13 and older, is led by a stunning woman named Vivienne. She’s managed to make the usual camp attire seem chic and somehow her make-up remains uncompromised by the heat. It’s no wonder she was paired with the older girls. It can be a difficult group to get engaged with the camp activities, but I imagine they're will to do anything if it has Vivienne's stamp of approval.

Cabin 2, full of girls younger than 13, is led by Josephine: an actual Disney princess. Or at least I assume she’s some sort of princess. She moves with such ease and grace and kindness…I wish I’d had a mentor of her caliber when I was younger.

A whirling storm of chaos called Sera leads Cabin 3, and to be frank, I can’t imagine anyone more appropriate for the job. These are the youngest boys, with the highest concentration of mischief coursing through them. I imagine there are lots of pranks and lots of food fights in their cabin…

Cabin 5 is headed up by THE Iron Bull (emphasis his). He’s cool. _Extremely_ fucking cool, and all of his campers (and counselors) look at him in awe because of it. They’ve got a bit of a crew going already, and have nicknamed their cabin “The Chargers.” Seems every single one of the boys in there uses a power chair and the cabin is strung up with wheelchair chargers. Excellent team spirit.

Cabin 6, as previous notes indicate, is run by Varric and to be honest, I want to hang out there all the time. These boys-–men really, even if they seem much younger than me-–are absolutely hilarious and interesting and I should have a chat with a few of them. I'd like their voices in the article, along with the ladies of Cabin 1. I managed a quick chat with Varric earlier, and he doesn’t seem quite his usual self. A bit down. I’ve not pried, but I imagine it has something to do with the loss of his long term camper. Perhaps in time we’ll talk about it.

The Arts and Crafts lodge is run by a quiet boy, thin as a whip, named Cole. By the looks of the decorations in the lodge, he has some genuine talent. And his partner is the most boisterous and delightful dwarf I’ve ever met (excepting Varric) named Dagna. “He’s the arts, I’m the crafts.” She’s missing a left eyebrow…something about a practice run of plaster-casting…need more info.

As for Cabin 4, I. AM. CONCERNED. Hopefully I’ll look back at these notes in a week and laugh at my premature worries, but the boys in the cabin seem uninterested in the camp as a whole. I suppose they’re at an age approaching teenager-hood in which it’s cool to be uninterested in everything. But the leader–-Counselor Rutherford, (not exaggerating)–-does little to help the attitude. It’s not that he’s too strict, merely that he’s rather reserved and seemingly passive about his job. There is one counselor in the cabin--Rylen, a charming Starkhaven lad–-who I think would be much better suited to the position. He and his camper get along swimmingly and he’s a good sport about having fun. He's already started coming up with a cabin chant.

On the other hand, I’m not sure this Rutherford fellow knows what fun is.


	3. Warm Fuzzies

_**Monday, Justinian 8, Morning** _

* * *

 

Brigid had already been up for an hour when her 6:30 alarm went off.

The plan had been to get a solid night’s sleep, wake with just enough time to shower and dress, and roll into the cafeteria a breezy ten minutes past the start of breakfast.

Instead, she woke before dawn, giddy like a little girl on Satinalia morning. The air was already a bit muggy when she opened the door of her small cottage, so after an early shower, she opted for shorts and a tank top. Rarely did she have the occasion to wear such an outfit out and about on a weekday. Standard office attire left her sweating and sticky on hot days like this, and none of her previous articles had required so much time outdoors. But she was happy to break from routine. So in an attempt to fully commit to the camping role, she braided her thick, wet hair, applied sunscreen until she smelled strongly of coconut, and strung her lanyard around her neck.

When she was a young camper, much of this morning prep was done in the presence of a counselor—someone to ensure that she had brushed her teeth and brushed her hair. Once she got older, her counselors stopped being guardians and became friends. Brigid was independent, after all, and took poorly to offers of help. Was it easier to have someone assist her into bed from her chair? _Certainly_. Would she allow it? _Not on her life._ It did, of course, get her into trouble, particularly the summer that she ended up slipping right into the pool. But such accidents never changed her attitude. Her mother called it determination. Her father called her stubborn.

But that was all years ago. On this specific balmy Monday morning, Brigid used her extra time before breakfast to trek the path to the lake. The whole camp would venture out there throughout the week, enjoying pontoon boat rides, failing to catch fish, and managing to catch poison ivy. But she wanted to rekindle her love affair with the view in private.

Much of Ferelden was rural, in line with so many stereotypes, but Camp Skyhold most of all. Mountains stretched skyward in the distance, but the campgrounds themselves were something out of a Dalish fairytale. Willows swayed rhythmically along the lakeshore like they had been imbued with the magic of ages past. Sturdier trees, oak and elm, stood guard behind them, home to a million chattering birds. Frogs hid in the tall reeds that grew in the shallows and the occasional fish glubbed near the surface, snatching aphids. To call it a view did disservice to the drowsy smell of honeysuckle and freshwater algae and the bright chirps of waking finches. Though the night’s chill remained in the occasional breeze, the humidity that blanketed the camp amplified the smells and sounds and the richness of the involuntary memories it triggered caught in her throat. By the time she got her fill of the the lake, the sun had risen and breakfast was nearly over.

* * *

 

The cafeteria remained unchanged. A wide-open dining area with rows and rows of tables sat beneath a vaulted ceiling of wooden beams. The walls were hardly walls, but windows that gazed out toward the grounds. In one corner stood an old piano that the occasional camper knew how to play. And in the opposite corner stood a table covered in multi-colored slips of paper and pens, and a large cork board filled with push-pins—some of which secured folded notes. _Warm Fuzzies_. An apt name, given the feeling they elicited. Camp goers could pen messages to one another, write the recipient’s name on the outside, and leave them on the board for the intended to find. Somewhere, stashed away in a closet were photo albums dedicated to the camp. And slipped in the sleeves behind the pictures were Warm Fuzzies from years passed. 

As Brigid stared at the board before her, she knew she wouldn’t find her name. To temper the ache, she snagged a piece of neon orange paper and began a note to Varric.

A hand at her shoulder startled her from her thoughts. She turned to find Leliana, jingling faintly with the accouterments of authority—keys snapped to a belt loop, a whistle clicking against her lanyard, and a radio attached to her hip, muttering some fuzzy nonsense.

“Has it all come rushing back to you yet?”

Brigid folded the note she’d been writing in half and plucked a pin from the board.

“Like a freight train. Maker, I’m worried the nostalgia will swallow me whole, so much is just as I remember it.”

“That’s no accident. The formula has worked so well over the years, I could hardly bear to change a thing. And the facility owners must feel the same way, Skyhold has seen little more than a fresh coat of paint and a new playground. But tell me, is your cabin satisfactory?”

“Oh, just perfect, I appreciate your hospitality. You know, I half expected to end up in one of the camper cabins, which would have been no problem, re—”

“Not for you, perhaps. But I wonder if all your talk of the good old days would have tired the campers.” Her tone was even, but she couldn’t suppress a sly grin.

“Lady Nightingale, are you calling me an old fogey?”

Laughter crackled between them. “We are both old fogies here, my dear. Tell me, will you be participating in any activities today, or is yours a more hands-off kind of research?”

“I’ll likely just float around the camp. Re-familiarize myself with things today.”

With an accepting nod, Leliana whipped her backpack around, unzipped it, and withdrew a second radio. “This is for you. No cell phones on campgrounds so no one’s tempted by the distraction. The cabin leaders all have one, along with Cass, Blackwall, Dorian, and myself.” She cocked her hip to the side to indicate. “Feel free to keep it off unless you need something. Otherwise, you’ll be subjected to constant chatter. Very distracting for writing, I imagine.”

The idea of writing anything more than pleasant messages to friends felt like a chore at the moment, but she shrugged and nodded. “It’ll just be notes throughout the day. The article will take shape at night.”

Another nod put Brigid at ease. Each nod from Leliana felt like a benediction, even when she had been much younger and slightly less imposing. “Sounds like you have it all figured out then. Now, I must be off to check the pool. But I’m deadly serious when I say, if you need _anything_ at all, don’t hesitate with the radio. You’re our special guest!” she added, in a shout, as she hurried back toward the doors.

Left alone once more with her thoughts, Brigid approached the buffet of self-serve options at one side of the cafeteria and settled on a granola bar. The building smelled of maple syrup and slightly overdone bacon, but the thought of anything so rich made her stomach turn. She realized, then, that she was nervous. A silly thought, really. She had no one to impress and nothing critical to perform. All the same, she felt anxious looking upon a sea of strange faces.

She shook her head to flick away the nerves when she heard her name bellowed out.

_Blackwall_. A rich, raspy heft to his voice made him unmistakable.

He sat at the end of a row of tables across from the woman she could only assume was his scout camp partner. Comforted, she headed toward them grinning.

“Blackwall! By Andraste, what a beard you’ve grown!”

He rubbed at the coarse black hair and chuckled.

“You mean he’s not always had that scraggly mat?” the dwarf interjected. “Lace, by the way. Lace Harding.”

Brigid met her hand in a shake and set her sad granola bar on the table. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

Blackwall took a deep swig of coffee and cleared his throat. “I’ve heard rumor over the radios that you’re here working on some kind of article?”

“Yes! I work for the Ferelden Herald these days. I proposed the idea that I do a feature on the camp, you know, from the perspective of a former camper. We’ll see what it turns into.”

“Well, whatever that may be, we’re glad to have you. I think it’s good for campers to see someone who was once in their shoes being successful.”

She suppressed her guffaw at the suggestion that she was particularly successful and shrugged. “I’m just happy to be back. I hope to do this place justice. And to meet a few new faces, Maker, I feel like a stranger.”

Lace nodded aggressively through a sip of coffee. “Tell me about it! This is my rookie year and other than this lug, I’ve not had the chance to really talk with anyone. You’re always welcome out at the scout camp!”

“I’m sure I’ll make it there at some point. I’ve got so much I want to see today,” Brigid mused, pulling the week’s schedule out of her bag. “Cabins 2 and 3 are down at the lake, but I’ve already been there this morning. Cabins 1 and 6 are slotted for Arts & Crafts, which could be fun. I’d like to get out to the track before it gets too hot...” her voice trailed off as she flipped the page. “Aha! Excellent, Cabins 4 and 5 are down there now. That will give me a chance to see some sporting first hand. Do you know what they're doing today?” The track and accompanying fields were a central location for all sorts of adaptive sports: archery, baseball…long stretches of bubble wrap that were, admittedly, very fun to speed over in a wheelchair.

“Let’s find out.” Blackwall lifted his radio. “Blackwall to Bull.”

Nothing.

“Blackwall to _The Iron Bull_.”

Static.

“Andraste preserve me, he never picks up,” the scout muttered to himself. “Blackwall to Cullen.”

A sharp, clear voice cut through the white noise. “Cullen here.”

“You down at the track?”

“Just arrived.”

“What’ve they got going on over there this morning.”

An extra moment of silence, and then a stall. “Uh…looks like baseball. Softball, perhaps?”

“10-4. I think the reporter Leliana’s been talking about is headed over there.” Blackwall winked at Brigid.

“Very well. Though, I hope she knows that the priority is entertaining the campers, not her questions.”

Brigid was taken aback as she listened to the static and felt blood rush to the tops of her ears.

_What a **prick**_.


End file.
